


From the Starbucks Back to the Earth

by aitomation



Category: Psych
Genre: Autistic Carlton Lassiter, Autistic Shawn Spencer, Bisexual Shawn Spencer, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, First Kiss, It's About the Parallels, Lunch, M/M, Pansexual Carlton Lassiter, Pre-Slash, Promises of Dinner, Shawn's Hard Opinions On Shoes, Tom Blair's Pub, Trans Male Character, Trans Shawn Spencer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 00:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20787221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aitomation/pseuds/aitomation
Summary: After a fight with Henry, Shawn visits Tom Blair's to drown his sorrows. Lassie and Juliet, on a case, find Shawn four-and-a-half sheets to the wind. Lassiter, like a true gentleman, offers to take Shawn home.





	From the Starbucks Back to the Earth

**Author's Note:**

> i love psych now shawns the autistic trans bicon we need,,,,, this takes place between s1 ep13 n 14

Lassiter shut the door of the Crown Vic, glancing over at O’Hara climbing out of the passenger seat. Tom Blair’s Pub looked down at them, deceptively cheery and well-lit. He flared his nostrils. They just needed to get in, talk to their guy, and get out; and then he could go home and pretend to watch COPS reruns while he did more work. 

“It’s the dishwasher, right O’Hara?” he asked, mostly to break up the silence. 

“Yes,” Juliet said quickly, flipping open the case file she’d brought with them. “Carlos Nunes, part-time dishwasher. You read his statement?” 

“I did. We need to grill him on the specifics,” Lassiter said as he started toward the door.

“I agree, his statement was too clinical. I think he knows more than he’s telling us.” Lassiter made a noise of agreement, holding the door to let O’Hara through. She smiled her thanks and turned to wait for him to follow. 

The bar wasn’t particularly busy for a weekday night. There were people scattered around, some at tables and a few spaced out at the bar; but there was no low murmur of chatter, and the general atmosphere was rather subdued. Lassiter and O’Hara quickly picked their way through the tables, headed toward the kitchen.

“Is that Shawn?” O’Hara asked quietly, gesturing at a tall table nearly hidden by the bar. Lassiter internally groaned. It was indeed Spencer, teetering on a bar stool with several empty glasses on the table in front of him. Lassiter noticed a distinct lack of a date, which was surprising, based on what he knew of Spencer.

“Stay focused O’Hara,” he grumbled. 

“It’s not polite to stare you know,” Shawn called, looking up at him. Lassiter mumbled a curse, steeling himself for an irritating conversation. 

“Spencer,” he said in acknowledgment. 

“Hi Lassie.” Shawn grinned, his head falling to one side. “You know, I never really understood drinking away your sorrows before but I think you’ve got the right idea.” Lassiter grimaced, slowly approaching Shawn’s table. Juliet hung back, pursing her lips, looking sad and worried. 

“It’s not the wisest choice Spencer.”

“Mm,” Shawn hummed. “And you’d know. Do you really not remember our talk, the last time we were here?” Lassiter pointedly ignored him.

“What are you doing here Spencer?”

“Is it not obvious?” Shawn asked. He threw back the rest of his drink, wincing and smacking his lips obnoxiously. “I’m drinking,” he said anyway. Juliet approached quietly, looking between them. 

“Where’s Guster?” Shawn blew a raspberry, waving one hand. Lassiter looked to Juliet, who looked just as shocked as he felt. 

“Somewhere. Probably home sleeping, like a nerd. He doesn’t answer his phone after eight.” 

“That’s… odd,” Juliet said delicately. 

“Oh hey Jules!” Shawn said, as though he’d just noticed her. He brightened considerably; sat up straighter on his stool. “What are you doing here? Is there a party I wasn’t told about?” Before Juliet could smooth out her facial expression and respond, Shawn gasped. “Am I interrupting your evening? Did I cut into your Lassie time?” Juliet chuckled, finally losing some of her wide-eyed pity, and patted Shawn’s hand gently. 

“No Shawn. Lassiter and I are here to question a witness. We’re on a case.” Shawn blinked owlishly, turning to Lassiter again. 

“You’re  _ working _ ?” He asked, something complicated in his tone. Lassiter frowned.

“When is he not working?” Juliet joked, nudging Lassiter with one elbow companionably. His frown turned to a scowl. Shawn nodded sagely, not taking his eyes off Lassiter. 

“That is true.” Carlton started to fidget under Shawn’s intense gaze.

“Do you at least have a ride home?” he asked. “You didn’t drive here did you?” Lassiter narrowed his eyes. That seemed like something irresponsible Spencer would do. Shawn gasped theatrically, putting a hand over his heart. 

“Lassie, I’m hurt! I would never  _ drive _ to go out and get blasted. Everyone seems to forget I was raised by a cop.” Shawn’s expression darkened for a moment. He looked down to where he was fidgeting with his hands in his lap. “I took a cab,” he said quietly. Lassiter pursed his lips. He looked from Shawn to Juliet before rolling his eyes to the ceiling with a sigh. 

“I think you’ve had enough Spencer.” Shawn looked up, his expression back to neutral.

“I disagree wholeheartedly. I’m just getting started Lassie. Haven’t even been here that long.” Lassiter looked at Juliet, and they both looked pointedly at the collection of glasses on the table. Shawn stuck his tongue at them. “Aren’t you working Lassie? You don’t need to babysit me, I know how much you hate that.” 

“We do need to talk to Nunes,” Juliet said. Her brow drew together again; Lassiter could easily call her expression a pout. She toyed with the files in her hands, looking from Lassiter to Shawn to the kitchen and back. Lassiter sighed.

“Go ahead O’Hara,” he said, waving toward the kitchen. “I trust you with this. Finish this up, meet me back here, and we’ll take him home.” 

“No,” Shawn whined, drawing out the sound.

“Right,” O’Hara said over him, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Be back in a bit. I’ve got this.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Carlton said to her retreating back. When he turned back, Shawn was looking at him strangely. Lassiter swallowed. “What?” he snapped, narrowing his eyes. Shawn shrugged. 

“You’re good partners.”

“But you already knew that,” Lassiter said, almost an accusation. Shawn shrugged again.

“Maybe. Honestly Lassie? I’m trying to figure out why you’re standing here, instead of going to scare that dishwasher with Jules.” Lassiter himself was still trying to figure it out. Talking to Nunes in all likelihood wouldn’t take long, even if they got something from him, and Spencer would probably still be at his table when they came back out. There was no guarantee with Shawn, though. He could just as easily disappear in the time it took Lassiter to turn away. 

“Someone needs to make sure you don’t make a break for it. We don’t need you passing out on any benches, making more work for patrol.” 

“Why didn’t you make Jules stay with me?” Lassiter swallowed, glancing toward the kitchen.

“I don’t ‘make’ O’Hara do things Spencer,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “We’re partners, we divide work evenly. If anything I’ve let her off easy.” 

“You’re just making excuses,” Shawn accused, pointing up at him. “You really just wanted to hang out with me didn’t you Lassie? Wanted to get me all to yourself for a minute.” Lassiter rolled his eyes, scoffing. 

“Hardly.” 

“I knew you liked me,” Shawn said, grinning cheekily. “Can I tell you something?” Lassiter hesitated. Shawn’s face was open and earnest; he didn’t wait for an answer. “You’re a great detective Lassie, you really are. And honestly? I wish I could be more like you.”

“Huh?” Lassiter said intelligently, completely taken aback. 

“My dad would go crazy for you,” Shawn grumbled, slumping in his seat. “All organized and by-the-book, a perfect little detective who follows all the rules. That’s what he always wanted me to be you know.” Lassiter’s brow furrowed. A waiter appeared at Shawn’s side with a glass of something pink. Shawn took the glass gratefully, exchanging it for a wad of cash. He immediately stuck the straw in his mouth, taking a long sip. 

“Then why did he arrest you?” Lassiter asked. Shawn set the glass on the table, pulling the straw from his lips. 

“I told you, he wanted to teach me a lesson. But he’s a bad teacher, and I’m a worse student Lassie.” Shawn pursed his lips. “He taught me a lot of things I’ll never be able to forget though.” 

“Like what?” Shawn just smiled, something wan and thin, before taking another drink. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” he whispered suddenly, leaning forward conspiratorially. Lassiter found himself leaning closer without realizing. “I actually never forget anything. It’s horrible, really.” Shawn’s tone was deceptively light now. He stirred the ice in his glass with the straw. Lassiter could see his jaw working as he chose his words-something he’d never seen Shawn do before. “You know, my dad’s never told me he loves me?” Lassiter blinked. From what he knew of Henry Spencer it wasn’t hard to imagine, but the reality of that statement made Lassiter shift uncomfortably. 

“Never?” he found himself asking. Shawn kept talking as though he didn’t hear him.

“I haven’t heard from my mom since I moved back here.” 

“Spencer-”

“You don’t have to say anything. But it’s my job to notice things Lassie, it’s the one thing I’m good at. And I’ve been noticing some things that I don’t really like all that much.” Shawn slumped in his seat; stared sadly into his glass. Lassiter was started to piece together what had happened to put Shawn at the bar in the first place. “I’m sorry I bother you so much at the station. But I have to be useful and the only way I can do that is by getting on cases.” 

“You ‘have to be useful’?” Lassiter asked, brow furrowing. “It doesn’t have anything to do with the money?” He had always thought that _ Psych  _ was just a quick way to make a buck in Shawn’s eyes-that Shawn only did it because he was good at it and it could support him. Shawn scoffed. 

“I don’t care about the money. I just wanna help people. Help you.” He paused, letting that statement hang in the air. Lassiter swallowed again, his throat suddenly dry. Shawn kept talking, babbling more like his usual self. “The money’s nice of course, I can finally stop couch-hopping and I can eat actual meals when I want to and I have health insurance. But I’m finally good at something Lassie! And I really thought that would matter.” 

“What you do  _ does _ matter,” Lassiter insisted, though he wasn’t sure why. “Loathe as I am to admit it, your help has been invaluable on a lot of cases.” Shawn smiled thinly.

“As nice as it is to hear you say that, Carlypants, that’s not what I mean.” He took another sip of his drink, now almost empty. 

“Then what do you mean?” Lassiter pressed. It was strange having Shawn be so serious for so long, and seeing him upset was making Lassiter’s chest feel tight.

“I mean,” Shawn huffed, “that I’m finally getting my life together! I have an apartment and I’m leasing office space, and I have a job that I’m committed to, one that I want to stick with. And that’s not good enough for him. I’m not good enough.” 

“This is about your father,” Lassie said more than asked, now that it was obvious. 

“What isn’t?” Shawn sighed. “Did you know he’s the reason my motorcycle got impounded? He ratted on me so I’d lose my bike, so he wouldn’t have to say ‘I was worried about you.’ And he didn’t understand why that upset me Lassie! He tried to make me feel bad for being rightfully pissed.” 

Lassiter considered his next words carefully. Henry Spencer had been an amazing detective, and he was a decent fishing buddy, but Lassiter knew he didn’t have all the facts. Shawn had grown up with the man-and apparently left him as soon as he could. Lassiter hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he thought he understood Shawn a bit better after spending time with his father. He couldn’t imagine the sorts of things Henry had said to Shawn while he was growing up; the sorts of things Shawn couldn’t forget, even if he wanted to. 

“I’m sure it’s a complicated situation Spencer,” he said finally. It wouldn’t help Shawn to dwell on it, he decided; especially not drunk and weepy like he was now.

“That’s the problem Lassieface,” Shawn sighed, leaning his chin in his palm, “it’s always a ‘complicated situation’ with him. Nothing has ever been simple, not since I learned how to talk and told him my name was Shawn.” Lassie quirked an eyebrow, frowning. “And because it’s not simple, nothing I have ever done has been good enough. I brought home ‘A’s’ but he wanted ‘A’-pluses. Every time I thought I did something right, he changed the rules on me.” Shawn deflated, leaning his forehead on the table. Lassiter just barely stopped himself from reaching out to rub Shawn’s back. He saw O’Hara heading toward them, a triumphant look on her face. “My chest hurts,” Shawn said into the table, voice sad and muffled. 

“Let’s get you home,” Lassiter said quietly. Shawn nodded wordlessly, peeling his face from the table.

“You’re a good friend Lassie. Maybe better than Gus.” 

“Shut up Spencer,” Lassiter said, but his lips twitched into a tiny smile.

Juliet had easily managed to get the information they needed out of Nunes. He hadn’t even realized he’d given her more details by the time she left. She was grinning proudly in the passenger seat of the Crown Vic, writing down what she’d learned as Lassiter drove. Shawn sat in the backseat, quietly humming. Lassiter didn’t have the energy to make him stop, even when he hummed the same verse for the fifth time. 

“We’re headed toward the station,” Shawn said loudly, suddenly. He leaned up between the front seats, looking at the side of Lassiter’s head. 

“We are,” Lassiter said, his grip tightening on the wheel just a fraction. “I figured I’d drop O’Hara off so she can get started on followup while I wrangle your ass into bed.” Juliet smiled (that awful pragmatic smile she only wore when he was talking to Shawn). Shawn wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and he’d just opened his mouth to say something inappropriate when Lassiter cut him off by snapping, “Are you even wearing your seatbelt?”

“Of course I am Lassie! Why do you assume I can’t take care of myself?” 

“It doesn’t protect you if you don’t sit properly.” 

“Then what good is it, really?” Juliet giggled, and tried to hide it with a cough. Lassiter glared at her. She grinned, turning to look out the window. “Jules?” Shawn asked, twirling a strand of her hair on one finger, “What kind of conditioner do you use?” 

“Shawn,” she started, gently tugging her ponytail away, “Don’t.” 

“That’s a genuine question. It always looks so silky, even though I know you have problems with excessive breakage.” 

“How do you know that? Wait, nevermind.” O’Hara chuckled to herself, shaking her head. Shawn grinned. Lassiter rolled his eyes.

“Can you go back to being quiet Spencer? I preferred that.” 

“I don’t wanna be quiet Lassie. It’s boring.” 

“Being bored builds character.”

“I already have lots of character.” Lassiter glared at him in the rearview mirror. “Ugh, fine  _ dad _ ,” Shawn groaned, slumping back in his seat. “Didn’t realize this was a ‘no fun allowed’ zone. Fun sucker.”

“Don’t quote Freaky Friday at me,” Lassiter snapped. 

“You saw Freaky Friday?” Shawn and Juliet asked simultaneously. Lassiter scoffed. 

“Yes,” he grumbled, his grip tightening on the wheel. “My niece wanted to see it last time my brother was in town.” He flicked on his turn signal with more force than necessary. 

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Juliet said lightly.

“I don’t see him much. We don’t really get along.” His eyes flicked to the mirror again; to Shawn watching him from the back seat. “You remind me of him Spencer. A lot actually. Very charming, energetic.” 

“You think I’m charming?” There was surprise in Shawn’s tone; also doubt, covered with teasing. Lassiter glanced at him again, but said nothing. 

“He doesn’t live around here?” Juliet asked, before the silence could get too heavy. “Your brother?” 

“No,” Lassiter said. They could see the station now, lit up for the night shift. “He moved to San Diego right around the time I finished high school, and he travels a lot for work. Like I said, I don’t see him much.” He pulled up outside of the station, looking at it longingly. Juliet cleared her throat, straightening the papers in her lap. 

“Thanks,” she said, opening her door. “See you soon?” 

“No more than an hour.” 

“See you then partner. Bye Shawn.” She climbed out of the car and shut her door, turning to wave at them before she started toward the stairs. Lassiter watched her until she disappeared through the doors. 

“Can I sit up front now?” Shawn asked, already climbing over the console. 

“Doesn’t seem like I get much say in the matter,” Lassiter grumbled as Shawn wiggled past him. Shawn was so close for a moment that Lassiter could smell the fruit and alcohol on his breath; and then it was gone, Shawn flopping in the passenger seat and tugging at his seat belt.

“You’re not gonna be mean to me now that Jules is gone are you?” Shawn narrowed his eyes, holding the seat belt buckle defensively against his chest. Lassiter rolled his eyes, one corner of his mouth twitching up. He reached over and pried the buckle from Shawn’s loose grip, then tucked it into its place, securing Shawn in the seat. 

“Let’s get you home. You’ll have to give me directions.” 

“Okay,” Shawn said cautiously, still radiating suspicion. “You know where the dry cleaner’s is? Mee Mee’s? It’s there.” 

“I didn’t know there were apartments over there.” Shawn hummed, turning to look out the window. He watched the police station until it disappeared behind them. 

“There it goes,” he mumbled. Lassiter wondered if he even meant to say it aloud. They drove in silence for awhile; only illuminated briefly by the streetlamps. Shawn started wiggling a lot in Lassiter’s peripheral vision. When Lassiter turned to check on him, maybe to ask what the hell his problem was, his brow creased with confusion. 

“Did you take off your shoes?” 

“I don’t like them,” Shawn said simply. He was pouting down at his feet, presumably at his shoes. Lassiter tried not to smile. 

“Why did you buy them if you don’t like them?”

“It’s not  _ my _ shoes,” Shawn insisted, “it’s all shoes. They’re terrible. Make you all heavy and loud.” Lassiter cocked a brow, turning from the road to Shawn and back again, silently urging him to explain. Shawn brightened a little, leaning forward so he could gesture. “When you put them on it’s like cement on your feet. You have to lift you and them, it’s very weird. And my dad taught me that you have to walk quiet, and you can’t do that in some shoes.”

“He did, did he?” Lassiter asked. He watched Shawn slump in his periphery.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I wasn’t playing hide-and-seek right.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a ‘right’ way to play hide-and-seek,” Lassiter said delicately, not taking his eyes off the road. 

“Well there is, apparently, and I had to learn to play that way,” Shawn grumbled. “I had to learn the right way to do everything or I wasn’t allowed to do anything.” 

“That does sound miserable.” 

“It was!” Shawn exclaimed, straightening in righteous indignation. “I didn’t get to do any fun kid stuff. I couldn’t read comics or have a dog or go on field trips if he wasn’t there.” Shawn counted on his fingers while he listed things, which Lassiter tried not to find endearing. “When I wanted to join Scouts, our local chapter wasn’t good enough, he had to be the leader, he had to make the rules. He always had to make the rules. He took the fun out of everything. And don’t say ‘that wasn’t his intention,’ Lassie.” Lassiter closed his mouth. 

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Yes you were. I know everyone thinks I’m exaggerating but he’s such a hardass all the time,” Shawn whined. “He never listened to me. He still doesn’t!” He huffed, crossing his arms. “It’s like what I say doesn’t matter if it’s not what he wants to hear. He’s never cared how I feel, about anything.” Lassiter didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. The car fell into silence again, except for the quiet sound of the engine, the tires on asphalt. “Sorry,” Shawn said into the quiet. Lassiter almost visibly startled.

“Why would you be sorry?” he asked, not looking away from the road. 

“I know you’re kinda friends with my dad now. I don’t mean to always badmouth him. It’s just, he’s my hero, you know?” Shawn shrugged. Lassiter swallowed; licked his lips.

“I didn’t know that. I’m certain he doesn’t know that,” he said firmly, to keep his voice from shaking. 

“I don’t want him to,” Shawn said quietly. He shifted in his seat; pulled his legs up to his chest, shoes abandoned in the footwell. His socks didn’t match. “If he knew I’d never hear the end of it. I’m already a big enough disappointment to him.” He sounded so miserable. Lassiter wanted to hug him-and Lassiter hated hugs. 

“I think you overestimate his disappointment in you.” Lassiter remembered a brief conversation with Henry, as they unloaded the boat at the end of the day; the soft smile on Henry’s face when he mentioned Shawn’s work on the case. “He doesn’t agree with your methods, but he’s proud of the work you do.” 

“Kinda like you?” Lassiter cleared his throat, flushing. Shawn chuckled, the sound sending a liquid warmth down Lassiter’s spine. “I’m also sorry for bugging you all the time,” he said quietly. “I know I can be too much sometimes. Most of the time.” 

“I wouldn’t say ‘too much,’” Lassiter said awkwardly, shifting his grip on the wheel.

“Most people would,” Shawn said simply. “A lot of people have said it to my face actually.” 

“I’m sorry,” Lassiter said, and he meant it. 

“Why would you be sorry?” Shawn parroted Lassiter’s earlier words (he did that sometimes, Lassiter had noticed, but only with Lassiter himself, and Guster). “You’ve never said that to me. As prickly as you are Lassie, you’re never mean to me.”

“I don’t see a reason to be. No matter how annoying you can be when you so choose.” Shawn smiled lazily, moving to loosely hold his ankles.

“You really are a big softie under that leather holster, aren’t you Detective Lassiter?” he teased. Lassiter snorted. “It’s a right up here,” Shawn said, pointing, “and then a left.” 

“I know.” It was much brighter on the little strip, even so late at night. The colored lights bounced off Shawn’s skin when Lassiter looked at him; made his eyes greener. Shawn caught him looking, and held his gaze until Lassiter had to look back at the road. 

“Do you really have a brother?” he asked, which wasn’t what Lassiter had expected him to say. 

“I do. What kind of question is that?” Shawn shrugged, laughing. 

“I don’t know. It’s just hard for me to imagine you with siblings.” 

“I have a sister too,” Lassiter said indignantly. “She’s quite a bit younger than me though.” 

“You’re a middle child,” Shawn said, like that meant anything. “That makes sense.”

“Shut up Spencer,” Lassiter grumbled, without any real bite behind it. Shawn giggled. 

“Oh, here it is,” he said, gesturing at the dry cleaner’s. 

“I can see that. Where’s your apartment?”

“This is my apartment.” Shawn started wrestling with his seat belt, ignoring Lassiter’s look. 

“You live in a dry cleaner’s Spencer?”

“It’s not a dry cleaner’s anymore Lassie. It’s my apartment.” Shawn said, like Lassiter wasn’t understanding something very simple. 

“Get out of my car.” Shawn laughed again, fumbling with his door handle. 

“Aw, you’re not gonna walk me to my door? For shame Lassie,” he teased. Lassiter answered by climbing out of the car himself, glaring down at Shawn. He didn’t miss the way Shawn bit his lip as he looked up at him before he moved to clamber out of his seat. 

“You’re incorrigible.” 

“Ooh, that’s a new one. Did you get a word-a-day calendar too? Gus just got one for our office, he thinks I need to ‘broaden my vocabulary.’” Shawn’s impression of Gus was intentionally bad, and Lassiter couldn’t keep himself from snorting at it. Shawn beamed at him before skipping up the drive to the door of his laundromat-apartment. He fumbled with his keys; missing the lock and at one point dropping the whole keyring; before Lassiter sighed and snatched them from him. “Hey!” 

“Shut up Spencer.” Lassiter made quick work of the door, returned his keys and followed Shawn inside. There was a huge dry-cleaning rack in Shawn’s living room. Shawn, of course used to it, walked right past it. He wiggled out of his shirt and threw it on the floor. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Lassiter sputtered, eyes wide. 

“Getting ready for bed Lassie,” Shawn said simply. He scratched at the irritated red line where the bottom of his binder had dug into his soft skin. “I should take this off,” he said absently, mostly to himself. Lassiter didn’t have time to blink before Shawn was wriggling the binder over his head. Lassiter flushed, averting his gaze to the little pineapple sculpture on Shawn’s coffee table. “You don’t have to be shy, Lassieface,” Shawn said with a grin. “We’re just two men being shirtless together.”

“I’m not shirtless,” Lassiter said dumbly. He glared at the pineapple sculpture. 

“That’s too bad,” Shawn said, poking Lassiter in the side just to watch him jump. His grin turned into a leer. Lassiter felt his ears turn red.

“Go put some clothes on,” he grumbled, flushing darker when Shawn laughed. Shawn disappeared into his bedroom, stumbling when he tried to take his shoes off as he walked. “And be careful!” Lassiter snapped. 

“ _ You _ better be careful Lassie, or I might start to think you care about me.” Lassiter scoffed.

“Of course I care about you,” he muttered, only because he was sure Shawn couldn’t hear him.

He looked around the living room curiously, now that he was alone. Shawn had an odd collection of things, scattered all over the room-little figures and sculptures on the shelves of the bookcase; posters and lights haphazardly hung on the walls; clothes and blankets all over the floor. Lassiter was squinting at a shelf of what might’ve been handmade plates when he realized that it was much too quiet.

“Lassie!” Lassiter jumped when Shawn shouted for him. When he entered the bedroom, expecting the worst, Shawn was seated at the foot of his bed, now wearing a worn  _ Man of La Mancha _ sweatshirt. He grinned lazily when he saw Lassiter, waving. “There you are. I missed seeing your pretty face.” 

“Shawn-” Lassiter started, exasperated. 

“Sorry, your  _ handsome _ face.” Shawn cut him off, rolling his eyes as he said it. Lassiter put his hands on his hips; tried to make his expression stern. 

“Shawn,” he repeated.

“What Lassie?” Shawn grinned up at him, fluttering his lashes and swinging his feet.

“Did you need something?”

“Hm, nope. Just wanted to see you.” Lassiter sighed, his cheeks getting hot again.

“Weren’t you getting ready for bed Spencer?” 

“I got stuck Lassie.” Shawn wiggled as if to prove it. “I like saying your name,” he continued, unprompted. He grunted as he started wrestling his jeans off, and looked up sharply, grinning. “Lassie.”

“Lassie isn’t my name,” Lassiter said simply, watching Shawn unceremoniously dump his jeans in a heap on the floor at the foot of his bed. 

“It is in my head. That’s what’s really important. I look at you and I think ‘Lassie!’ so that’s what I say. Lassie.” Shawn turned, crawled up his bed. Lassiter pointedly didn’t watch him. 

“Where do you keep your aspirin?” he asked. 

“In the pineapple.” Lassiter raised an eyebrow. He could see five pineapple-shaped things from where he was standing, and he knew there were more in the rest of the apartment. Shawn giggled. “The ceramic one in the kitchen, on the island.”

“I suppose the bathroom would make too much sense.” 

“No medicine cabinet,” Shawn said, sinking into his pillows with a happy little sigh. Carlton squinted. “And I can’t leave the pineapple on the floor, Lassie, that’s just disrespectful.”

“No of course, how silly of me,” Carlton said, rolling his eyes. He walked out of the bedroom; paused to take a breath. 

He could see the pineapple on the kitchen island and he walked to it, but paused before he could take the lid off. Glancing back at the bedroom, and then back to the pineapple, Lassiter turned and started poking through Shawn’s cabinets looking for a glass. Shawn had a lot of novelty mugs, two dozen different collectible plastic cups, and a small set of tall, mismatched glasses, shoved to the back of the corner cabinet. Lassiter dug one out and filled it from the cold tap. Then he turned and gingerly set the pineapple’s lid on the table; sorted through the strange contents of the jar until he found the little bottle he was looking for. He took another breath before he went back to the bedroom. 

“Lassie,” Shawn said the second Carlton crossed the threshold, even though his eyes were closed. His hands were resting on his chest, moving with his breaths. 

“Shawn. I found the pineapple.” Shawn smiled.

“It wasn’t hidden,” he teased. Carlton rolled his eyes yet again. Dealing with Shawn sometimes he worried that his mother was right, and his eyes would one day roll out of his head and out the door. He shook a couple of pills into his hand. Shawn started grumbling to himself. 

“My titties hurt,” he whined, kneading at his chest. Carlton wanted to reprimand him for being irresponsible, if only to quell his sudden urge to massage Shawn’s chest for him. Instead, he scoffed quietly and moved to pick Shawn’s clothes up off the floor, depositing them in the hamper in the corner. 

“You should take some aspirin and get some sleep,” Lassiter said when he was done, holding out the pills. He watched Shawn groan and roll onto his side, facing the window. 

“I can’t sleep,” he said, pouting. “I’m too awake, and I will be forever.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”    
“But I’m so good at it.” Lassiter frowned, remembering Shawn’s earlier words. “This happens sometimes,” Shawn said quickly, waving a hand. “Insomnia or something.” 

“That sucks,” Lassiter said, startling a giggle out of Shawn. Lassiter’s frown deepened. “It does,” he insisted. 

“I know that. It’s just funny hearing you say a word from this century.” Shawn finally took the pills from him, and dropped them into his mouth one by one before taking a long drink from his glass. “Thank you, by the way.” 

“Don’t mention it.”

“I’m gonna mention it a little bit.” Lassiter snorted, biting back another smile. 

“Go to sleep Spencer.” Shawn wriggled under his covers and settled into his pillows again. Lassiter had just turned to leave when Shawn spoke up.

“Will you stay?” Carlton froze. He swallowed thickly. “Just until I fall asleep Lassie.” Lassiter half-turned, looking at Shawn. He really should be getting back to the station; it wasn’t right to leave O’Hara all the work. But the way Shawn was looking at him-like he was trying to crush the hope that Carlton would say yes, like he didn’t want to be left alone-made his chest hurt. 

“Of course,” he said quietly. Shawn beamed at him and Lassiter knew he made the right decision. Shawn patted the space on the bed next to him almost frantically. 

“Then come in, take a load off, have a seat. Get comfy Detective.” Lassiter sighed, more fond than anything else, crossed the room and settled on the very edge of the bed. He watched Shawn critically out of the corner of his eye, and noticed a dark shape in the corner of the room. For a split-second he froze, almost reaching for his gun before he saw what it was. 

“Why is there a gumball machine in your room Spencer?” he asked, voice weary with acceptance. 

“Do you not like it?” Shawn asked. He tilted his head curiously. “I was actually thinking about moving it to the living room soon.”

“I don’t know where you would fit it in your living room. This apartment’s a disaster area.” Lassiter pitched his voice down; tried to sound soothing. Shawn did say he would have trouble falling asleep. (Carlton remembered long phone calls with Victoria, just after they got engaged, where she would ask him to read to her until she fell asleep. He could do soothing.)

“I take that as the highest compliment Lassie.” 

“Of course you do.” Shawn let his eyes close, and went quiet. Lassiter watched him. He looked different in the low light of his bedroom; tired. Lassiter wasn’t surprised to see the beginnings of laugh lines on his face; he could see where Shawn bit his lips in thought. 

“Lassie I can hear you looking at me.”

“No you can’t,” Lassiter scoffed. 

“Come up here,” Shawn said, pulling one hand free from the comforter to gesture vaguely by his head. He didn’t open his eyes. “Lean on the headboard. It’ll be less distracting that way.”

“How so?” Lassiter asked, moving to prop himself against the headboard. Shawn shifted to lean his head against Lassiter’s thigh, sighing quietly; Carlton held his breath.

“S’less like being watched. You’re closer, so I know it’s you.” Shawn sounded tired now, at least. 

“But you already knew it was me.”

“Yeah. But I can only see so much with my eyes closed.” Lassiter didn’t press, but his brow furrowed. He knew Shawn wasn’t really psychic, but sometimes he wondered how Shawn did what he did. What could he see with his eyes closed? 

“I noticed, you stopped wearing your wedding ring,” Shawn said sleepily. Lassiter stiffened; shifted uncomfortably. 

“I stopped wearing it a long time ago,” he said. It had taken a long time for Carlton to accept that their separation was going to last, and when he did he stopped working his wedding ring onto his finger. That’s how he had started seeing Lucinda-she noticed. Shawn tilted his head up; opened his green, green eyes.    
“On your hand, yeah,” he said, and Lassiter’s eyes narrowed, “But you were wearing it on a chain, and now you’re not.” 

“How could you possibly know that? And don’t say the spirits told you Spencer.” Lassiter had worn it on a chain. He hadn’t wanted to give it up, because that represented his failure as a husband. He hadn’t told anyone that; he didn’t think anyone noticed, not even Lucinda. 

“I could see it sometimes,” Shawn said quietly. He reached up to tap Lassiter’s chest, right where his ring had rested. “The outline of it through your shirt. I don’t see it anymore.” Lassiter sighed heavily. 

“Shawn. Don’t,” he said wearily. Shawn’s hand retreated back under the covers. 

“Two years is a long time Lassie. In two years, I lived in twenty different states. Worked twenty different jobs.” 

“What are you trying to say?” 

“You’re a different Lassie now than you were then. You need to find that special Lassie-someone who appreciates all your Lassie-ness.” Lassiter closed his eyes.

“Please stop saying ‘Lassie.’” It sounded pathetic to his own ears. He didn’t see Shawn smile as he propped himself up on one elbow. 

“Okay.  _ Carlton _ . Come here.” Shawn grabbed Carlton’s tie and yanked him down so they were face to face. Carlton inhaled sharply and held his breath. 

“You smell,” Shawn giggled. 

“You smell,” Carlton shot back immediately; indignantly. 

“I smell like pineapple, and vodka and grenadine and amaretto. You smell like work, and sweat, and gunpowder.” Lassiter glared at him; cursed the warmth in his cheeks. “Aw don’t be mad Lassieface,” Shawn cooed, “I’m kinda into it.” Lassiter glared harder, reaching up to try and wrench his tie from Shawn’s grip. 

“You’re also drunk Shawn,” he grumbled. A grin slowly spread over Shawn’s face. “What?” Carlton asked defensively.

“You called me Shawn. Twice.” 

“That is your name.”

“I didn’t know you knew that. Thought maybe you forgot Spencer wasn’t my first name.” Lassiter scoffed, moving to stand. Shawn grabbed him and pulled him back onto the bed with surprising strength. Lassiter  _ oof _ -ed quietly as he landed sprawled on his back, looking up at Shawn hovering over him. 

“You’re a big softie Lassie. I can see right through you,” Shawn murmured. He leaned down until they were chest to chest and nose to nose. He rose and fell with Lassiter’s shallow breaths. 

“You see a lot don’t you?” Lassiter asked. 

“A lot more than you,” Shawn answered. Then he gently pressed their lips together. Carlton’s hand came up to cup Shawn’s jaw and Shawn pressed forward, sighing quietly. He pulled away after a moment, his eyes closed. “That was nice,” he murmured. “You didn’t push me away.” 

“Of course not,” Carlton said. He winced slightly at how rough his voice sounded. “You’re drunk.” 

“I wanna kiss you all the time when I’m not drunk,” Shawn said simply. “Would you push me away if I did then?” 

“You think you can appreciate all my ‘Lassie-ness’ Shawn?” Carlton teased quietly. Shawn finally let his eyes flutter open; looked at Carlton’s face with an unreadable expression.

“I can try,” he said quietly. He ghosted a finger across Carlton’s lower lip. “I wanna try.”

“We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning,” Carlton murmured, only once he felt Shawn start to nod off. 

Shawn fell asleep against his chest, and Carlton didn’t have the heart to move him. He waited until Shawn rolled over, snuffling and burrowing further into his comforter, to slip out the door. When he finally made it back to the station, O’Hara had already packed up. She was waiting for him on the front steps.

“No more than an hour?” she asked, her tone teasing but her eyes concerned. 

“He’s impossible to put down,” Lassiter said truthfully, reaching up to loosen his tie. 

“He’s alright though?” She walked down the stairs to stand at Carlton’s side, handing him his briefcase. He nodded his thanks and they started toward the parking lot together. 

“I got him to take some aspirin and drink some water, left some more on his end table. He shouldn’t be too miserable come morning.” 

“That was very thoughtful of you Detective,” Juliet said, grinning. 

“Don’t you start,” Lassiter warned. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, smiling in a way that said she knew exactly what he meant. Carlton flared his nostrils. 

“I’ve had more than enough nonsense for one evening,” he grumbled, feeling his ears get hot. He could still feel the gentle pressure of Shawn’s lips against his. He fished his keys out of his pocket to avoid looking at her (he was afraid that if he looked at her too long she might somehow know what had happened). 

“He is a goofball,” Juliet conceded, “but I’m sure he’ll thank you in the morning.” 

“We’ll see,” he said. “Thank you for waiting for me. Have a good night O’Hara.” 

“You too Carlton.” She was smiling that awful pragmatic smile again as she turned and walked to her car. Lassiter waited for Juliet to disappear around the corner before he climbed into his car and started the drive home. 

When Shawn came bumbling into the station the next morning, not looking the slightest bit hungover, Lassiter’s stomach dropped. He had expected at least a brief reprieve from Spencer’s antics after last night-Lassiter himself usually spent a few hours on his bathroom floor after a night with Tom Blair, and he had assumed Shawn was the type to sleep in. But there Spencer stood, talking as animatedly as ever to a cheery McNab in the entryway. Lassiter turned away, deciding to use the back office copier instead to avoid having to talk to him. 

He wasn’t upset-far from it. Lassiter found Shawn intriguing; he’d be lying if he said he’d never considered all the things he would do if Shawn were willing. It was sort of comforting for him to know that Spencer had actually been flirting with him, instead of just teasing (Carlton hated to be teased). It was the uncertainty that set his stomach in knots. Would Shawn even remember what he’d said? He wasn’t upset-he was worried. Carlton didn’t want to be an experiment, or a passing fancy. He glared at the copier as it whirred and worked. Spencer was flighty; disorganized; couldn’t take anything seriously. He wasn’t upset-he was afraid. Shawn had power over him and he didn’t even know it. Or maybe he did-he’d proven himself very perceptive. 

Shawn was perched on the edge of his desk, leafing through classified documents when Carlton rounded the corner. Lassiter sighed.

“What are you doing Spencer?” he asked wearily. 

“Lassie!” Shawn chirped, turning the full force of his grin on Carlton. “Just the man I wanted to see. How’s my favorite detective this fine morning?” 

“What do you want Spencer?” Shawn’s face fell slightly; Lassiter’s gut twisted. Shawn recovered quickly, his smile turning sly. 

“Do I have to want something? Can’t I visit just because?” Lassiter walked around his desk to sit heavily in his chair, Shawn’s eyes following him the whole way. He glanced up at Shawn; couldn’t read his expression. 

“Historically, no. You always want something,” he said, shuffling some papers around to look busy. Shawn pouted. 

“Not always from you,” he argued. 

“Then why are you on my desk?” Lassiter asked simply, raising one eyebrow.    
“Yours is the comfiest,” Shawn said, standing. He shoved his hands into his pockets; Lassiter privately thought it made him look small, vulnerable. “I could stop bugging you… if I wasn’t getting so many psychic vibes off those files there.” Shawn pointed at the folder he’d been poking through. Lassiter smiled indulgently. He leaned back in his chair; crossed his arms over his chest. Shawn’s eyes flicked down briefly. 

“We’ve got the Ramirez investigation under control Spencer. We don’t need any psychic intervention.”

“You say that a lot though Lassie, and sometimes you really do need my help.” Shawn fluttered his lashes. Lassiter refused to find it charming and adorable. He decided to take his lunch break a little early-he was just stuck at his desk doing paperwork anyway. 

“I mean it this time. Open and shut, no loose bits of evidence.” He started packing his things as he spoke, pointedly not looking in Spencer’s direction.

“That’s what you think,” Shawn muttered. “Oh Lassie, are you going to lunch?” he asked when Lassiter stood. “Mind if I tag along?” 

“Yes actually. Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?” Shawn grinned. 

“I like bothering you Lassie. Today I’d like to do it over an egg salad sandwich, possibly a croissant if I’m feeling fancy.” Lassiter scoffed; started walking. Shawn followed close behind. They walked out of the station and down the stairs side by side. When they got to his car, Lassiter sighed. 

“I hope you know I’m not paying for you.” Shawn bounced in place a few times, grinning, before he darted to the passenger side of the car.

“I accept those terms,” he crowed, scrambling into the seat before Lassiter could change his mind. Carlton allowed himself to chuckle quietly before he opened his door. 

Shawn was uncharacteristically quiet the whole drive. He barely even made fun of Lassiter’s choice of cafe. It was making Lassiter the tiniest bit nervous. It was very unusual for Shawn to walk away from an audience, but he’d seemed eager to get out of the station; he’d willingly followed Lassiter to a secluded table in the little cafe, and immediately stuck his nose in a menu. He didn’t say anything until their waitress came by. When she left with their orders, Lassiter cleared his throat. 

“What is this about Shawn?” he asked.

“Right to the point I see Lassieface.” Shawn cleared his throat too; leaned back in his chair and unconsciously mimicked Carlton’s posture. “You know, I wasn’t actually that drunk last night,” he said calmly, casually. Carlton noticed the slight tremor in his voice. “Half those glasses were water.” Shawn shrugged, looking down at the table sheepishly. “I just needed something to do.”

“So you decided to drink,” Lassiter said, unimpressed. 

“The idea came to me in a vision,” Shawn said dryly. Carlton snorted. 

“Couldn’t get Guster to entertain you instead?”

“I told you, he doesn’t answer his phone after eight. If it’s an emergency I call twice, back to back, or I text. He always reads his texts, even if he doesn’t respond. It’s a foolproof system Lassie, it’s worked for us for years.” 

“So what happened that you didn’t want to tell Guster?”

“Not that I didn’t want to tell him,” Shawn said quickly. Their waitress appeared with their food and a winning customer service smile; they both thanked her before she wandered away. Shawn took the opportunity to avoid Lassiter’s eyes. “I didn’t think he would want to deal with it. I complain about my dad a lot Lassie.”

“I’ve noticed.” Shawn looked sheepish again-he poked at his sandwich. 

“We don’t exactly get along. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.” Lassiter hummed, shifting in his seat. 

“You weren’t that drunk?” he prompted, his throat suddenly dry. 

“I wasn’t. Even if I was I’d remember.” Shawn suddenly looked nervous; smiled with too much teeth. “Were you hoping I’d forget?” 

“I wouldn’t say I was hoping,” Lassiter said, now avoiding Shawn’s eyes. “More that I expected you to need to be much drunker to be so open, and if you were that drunk you’d probably forget.” 

“I am a bit of a lightweight,” Shawn laughed. “But it’s hard for me to forget things, I told you that.” 

“You did,” Lassiter agreed. He took a sip of his tea; Shawn fidgeted. 

“So I didn’t forget,” he said, now sounding distinctly uncomfortable. “I remember what I said.”

“And?” Lassiter prompted. He wanted Shawn to be the one to say it. 

“And,” Shawn repeated, exasperated, “I meant it. I like you, Lassie, in the gross mushy butterflies in my tummy kind of way.  _ And _ I want to know if you want to try too.” Lassiter pursed his lips. Of course he wanted to. That kiss had been the permission Carlton needed to feel the way he felt. He wanted to try everything Shawn would let him. 

“I’m not even divorced,” he said instead of any of that. 

“But you’ve been separated two years. You were dating Lucinda.”

“We weren’t dating,” Lassiter said, chuckling mirthlessly. “She wanted it to stay secret, and dates meant being seen together outside of work. If we’re being totally honest, I didn’t really want to date her anyway. She didn’t like flowers.” 

“Hm. I will add that to the little Lassie box in my head,” Shawn said, tapping his temple. “What I’m trying to say here Lassie, is that I don’t mind. Your home was already wrecked way before I got here, no offense.” 

“None taken.” Lassiter was surprised to know that he meant it. “If you really mean it Shawn, if you really want to do this, we have to do it right.” Shawn colored at the intense look on Carlton’s face; at the way he was staring into Shawn’s eyes.

“So you wanna do this? You wanna date me?” 

“Of course I do,” Carlton said softly. Shawn sagged with relief, leaning forward to prop his elbows on the table. 

“Thank God,” he said, smiling, finally reaching for his food. “I’m no good at serious stuff Lassie. I was so worried I was gonna mess this up.” Lassiter’s eyebrows twitched up in surprise. “And,” Shawn said through a mouthful of food, “I’ve never really been in a real relationship before.” 

“Really?” Lassiter asked dryly. He started picking at his own food too, realizing that they’d need to leave soon. 

“Yeah,” Shawn said simply. “My longest relationship was three weeks, the first time I came back to Santa Barbara after high school. And it wasn’t really that serious. I don’t think either of us wanted it to be.” He sucked the pad of his thumb into his mouth, cleaning it off; Lassiter watched quietly. “I had a college boyfriend for about a month but I don’t count him usually because he was an asshole.” 

“You didn’t go to college.” 

“Yeah I did. For a month or so. It was boring as hell.” Carlton chuckled; shook his head. 

“You astound me sometimes Spencer.” Shawn beamed at him, straightening in his seat, his hands fluttering on the tabletop. 

“Can I astound you some more over dinner tonight? I’ve done a lot of weird stuff you know, I’ve got plenty of stories.”

“I’m well aware,” Carlton said with a smile of his own. He paid the bill in cash (paid for Shawn’s meal without mentioning it), and left a generous tip on the table, before leading the way outside. He held the door for Shawn, who smiled his thanks. 

“You know, I’ve never gotten flowers before,” Shawn said conversationally as they left. “I don’t know if I even have a vase.” Carlton hummed, squinting in the sunlight. He made a mental note to buy Shawn some flowers-maybe some yellow ones, lots of green accents; the kind that came in a vase. He unlocked the car and watched Shawn climb in before he followed. 

“Tell me more about College Shawn,” Carlton said after he turned the key in the ignition. Shawn perked up, clapping his hands together. He talked the whole drive back to the station, gesturing animatedly. Carlton let himself smile and laugh openly, if only to see Shawn beam with pride. All too soon they were pulling into his parking space. The air between them suddenly felt heavy. 

“This is where we part ways I guess,” Shawn said with an awkward, breathy laugh. “Dinner at seven?” Carlton smirked, and leaned across the console to kiss Shawn. He pressed their lips together gently, and Shawn immediately pressed back. He gripped the lapels of Carlton’s jacket, humming contentedly. Carlton pulled back after a moment, only slightly. 

“I’ll see you then Shawn,” he murmured against Shawn’s lips before slipping out of the car, turning to walk up the stairs. He didn’t have to look to know Shawn was beaming after him, probably doing one of his silly celebratory dances. He let a smile slip onto his face as he approached his desk. Juliet noticed, and smiled herself.

“Have a good lunch break Lassiter?” she asked. 

“As a matter of fact I did O’Hara.” He didn’t feel the usual dread as he sat down to fill out more paperwork. He felt light; happy. But for the first time in a very long time, Carlton was looking forward to the end of his shift. 


End file.
